flower crowns
by angels are watching over you
Summary: "The flowers on my head are pretty, but your face is even prettier," he says. -Finnick/Annie; highschool au; for .:flowercrowns(paige):. on c/p forums.


a/n: written for the amazing /flowercrowns/, aka Paige. I don't know you that well, but I just HAD to ship this. It's Finnick/Annie because FF doesn't allow characters about real people, this is the only way to keep it relevant to the HG fandom, you seem to like Finnick/Annie, and I have no idea what your bf looks like so yah.

nona, I'm sorry if I portray you awkwardly, but basically you are Johanna Mason, mkay. gomenasai. *bows*

thanks to everyone who contributed paige information on c/p!

this is flowercrownshipping, aka Paige/BWNIAOYU. :) hope you like it, especially you, Paige, because if you didn't I would die of horror and/or commit seppuku.

**warnings: ooc-ness, swearing, au**

* * *

|**flower crowns**|

"The flowers on my head are pretty, but your face is even prettier," he tells her, smiling.

(xoxo)

_from the moment that i saw you  
yeah, it had to be love  
girl i can't help but adore you  
knew you'd fit me like a glove  
what a life we have in store  
__to spend together and stuff  
you're a beauty, what a cutie  
it's undoubtably love_

-Charlie McDonnell, "Chemical Love"

(xoxoxo)

* * *

There's a picture on tumblr of Andrew Garfield in a flower crown, all strawberry milk-pink roses and tulips in muted rainbow colors. Andrew Garfield is smiling at Emma Stone.

It's a badly-done Photoshop, fake and plastic, but the flowers want to bloom in real life.

* * *

"Annie," Nona whispers, "stop Googling images of Misha Collins and _look behind you_. Now."

"What could possibly be more interesting than Googling images of Misha Collins?" Annie retorts.

"There's a really, really, _really _hot guy and I think he's checking you out."

"Nona, the table behind me is empty."

"No, it's like the one in the southeast corner and-just look behind you, Annie! There's a guy. Watching you. And he's _cute_."

"Cuter than Misha Collins? Or Jensen Ackles? Or Jared Padalecki?"

"Annie, I swear to God, I will take that phone away if you don't look. I swear." As if to emphasize her point, Nona waves a ketchup-topped French fry threateningly. Annie laughs.

"Alright, fine! Geez, Nona."

"_Look_."

Sighing, she turns around in her chair, expecting to be met by the typical groups and mishmashed cliques sitting in multicolored chairs and eating home-packed lunches or some of the crappy cafeteria food or doing random stuff on iPhones, when her gaze is inexorably, magnetically drawn to a smiling boy with copper-red hair, dimples, and the cutest llama hat she's _ever _seen, as well as a _lion shirt. _LION SHIRT.

Her mind registers the Dan Howell merchandise, then the Phil Lester merchandise, then the Phan tumblr paraphernalia, and finally travels to the redheaded boy's face with his sea-green eyes and wicked grin and she is, for once, quite utterly speechless.

She blurts out a rather unintelligble string of words she meant to be, "Holy shit, this guy is really cute, Nona!" but her vocal cords translate it as a bizarre brainfart which goes along the lines of, "_Holyshitit'sDanandPhilonapersonatonceandohmygodohm ygod_!" which, even to Nona-who-is-accustomed-to-her-fangirl-moments, is indecipherable.

Hastily, she whips her head back around and ducks low. "Did he see me? Is he still looking?"

Nona raises a quizzical eyebrow, folding her ring and wristband-bounds hand together like a prim female psychologist about to psychoanalyze a patient. "Hard not to, given your outburst." Her eyes widen in excitement and, leaning down, asks conspiratorially while looking over her shoulder, "So? What'd you think? Cute, right?"

"Erm..."

"_Annie_."

"Yeah, fine, okay?" She takes a sip of her red Gatorade and hopes it will hide the blush on her cheeks because _yes_, he was cute, let's leave it at that, please? Munching on a strawberry wafer cookie, she dares to sneak a discreet look back, her eyes straining in their sockets to maybe get a glimpse of the extremely hot eye candy and _ohshithe'sstillwatching_. She swivels towards her food again, blushing an even angrier shade of crimson. Her cheeks are ripe tomatos.

Nona is loving this, grinning like a jackal and crunching Doritos as she grins cheekily at Annie. Annie, who is covering her face with her shirtsleeves, but red still pokes through.

"Annie-"

"Don't look at me. Not him, either. Crap, he's staring, isn't he?"

"Ummm..." Nona mimes donning a pair of stalker-ish binoculars and, after a small interlude, answers, "Yes. Yes, the Phan boy who is extremely, extremely sexy is still staring at you. Yes, he is."

She removes the invisible binoculars. "Nice, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"Got some pretty nice arms, mmhmm. Damn, his t-shirt fits in all the right places, if you know what I mean."

"_Nona_!"

"Relax, girl, I just said that he's got a nice body." She licks her lips. "Mmm, I'd like to get a piece of that action-"

"Nona, please stop."

"Okay."

"I can feel him staring. Is he still staring?"

"Christ on a cracker, if you want to know if he's checking out your back, just take a look!"

She does. And shies away in seconds.

"Geez, Annie." Nona shakes her head. "It's just a boy."

"A really hot boy." Annie gulps and fiddles with a strand of her chocolate brown hair, her eyes darting peripherally to her right. "I've never had a really hot boy who wears Phan merchandise stare at me before."

Nona snorts. "Right. You've just had really hot boys stare at you up until now, but when a hot boy with a llama hat and a lion shirt shows up, you bail. Come on, Annie."

"Is he still staring?"

Nona throws her hands up into the air. "I give up."

The two of them leave, and Annie's heart is beating so fast in her chest when they pass by _his _table that she wonders if the mysterious redhead who wears Phan merchandise can hear her tattoo heartbeats.

* * *

The rest of school passes by in a blur as she doodles her way through Geometry and only listens absentmindedly during History. Finally, it is time for everyone to be dismissed, and as she straps on her backpack and picks items out of her locker, she wonders if the Phan stranger is watching her from the shadows, like some uber-romantic stalker. Like Castiel and Dean, or something like that. Walking through the hallways, she ties her hair into a ponytail with a black band, plugs in her earbuds, and listens to Coldplay's "'Til Kingdom Come", humming absentmindedly along as she drifts along with the sweeping river current of students, passes through the front doors, and sits down in a corner outside, putting her backpack down and leaning on it like a cushion, waiting for her mom to come and pick her up.

A few girls, namely Glimmer and Clove, peer at her like she's a an unnattractive brown mouse and whisper to each other, thinking they're being discreet about it when she has a perfect line of sight over to Glimmer's blonde head and can see her gesticulating obscenely. Turning away, she tunes them out with Coldplay, then with Snow Patrol's "The Lightning Strike," immersing herself in the melancholy and semi-dramatic piano sounds. Glimmer's an idiot, anyway; she's failing Geometry and would be on the verge of being held back if not for the fact that her dad practically owns half of the school.

Rain begins falling from the slate-grey sky in fat, little droplets, splashing onto the sidewalk and staining it a shade darker, seeping into the cracks of the cement and furthering the course of erosion. She likes to think that the rainfall is carving miniature Grand Canyons in the pavement outside and that tiny bugs are crawling along the cracks and marveling at everything like insectoid tourists. It's something reminiscent of a distorted version of Gulliver's Travels, or maybe something as outlandish as radiation-induced arachnid abilities from "The Amazing Spiderman." Smiling, she thinks of Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker; damn, Andrew Garfield is hot. Not just in Spiderman, but in "The Social Network" with Jesse Eisenberg.

She realizes she likes a lot of movies with 'the' in the title and laughs inwardly.

"Lightning Strike" is switched to "Take A Walk" by Passion Pit, which is extremely beach-songy and clashes with the mood she's trying to generate, and Vampire Weekend's "Jonathan Low" is just as happy and sing-songy and not fitting with the rain. "Disparate Youth" by Santigold is rebellious, but she thinks there's something sad about the lyrics and so settles on that song. Reaching into her backpack, she pulls out her battered copy of "Game of Thrones" and starts reading as a way to pass the time.

All in all, the steady, muted pitter-pat of the raindrops, Santigold blaring soulfully into her ears, and the engrossing world of Westeros are pleasant enough company on an after-school wait, even though she wishes Nona was here with her. But Nona rides the bus and she doesn't (she hates buses for some reason) so she's stuck with waiting alone in the shade of her high-school roof, snug in her book nook, her brown hair cascading gracefully over one shoulder like a waterfall. The activities she's set out for herself absorb her so completely that she doesn't notice someone sitting down a few feet next to her until she blinks, pulls her head up from GoT, does a random scan of her surroundings, and latches onto the all-too-familiar face of Phan boy with the copper hair and the smile that could light up the sun (and her cheeks, which are already _flaming_).

Killing off the sounds of "Vagabond" by Wolfmother mid-song, she yanks her earbuds furiously out of her ears and _stares_ at him, which, thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice. Up close, he's even cuter (amended: fucking _sexier _than whatever Greek god of sex exists) than she pictured, or rather saw, in the lunch room earlier. He's got features that could be considered aquiline, yet there's a softness about him that makes her picture Benedict Cumberbatch, strangely. His hair is the color of autumn leaves in the middle of fall, red-orange-yellow and indecisive. And the way it sweeps to a side, curly as can be, she imagines Dan Howell, Phil Lester, and Charlie McDonnell's hairstyles combined into this boy, the shade negated and replaced with fire engine-red, and then placed onto the scalp of this gorgeous, handsome stranger. But with Dan's hat, Phil's shirt, and Charlie McDonnell's adorable face amplified by about ten times. He's boyish, he's hot, he's texting on a phone, his head is tilting up, around-

-and right at her. His eyebrows are slanted, a tiny furrow in the crease between his eyes appearing as though he's deep in thought.

_But he's looking at her._

Well, fuck.

She suppresses a shriek, hiding her face in the pages of her Martin novel, but she can hear his footsteps coming towards her.

'Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him,' she thinks. It's too late. He's crouched next to her, though he still towers several inches above her head. And yes, Nona was also right about _this_. His biceps are straining the sleeves of his lion shirt, which hugs every inch of his body oh-so-perfectly. His cleft chin juts out slightly, his lips looking faintly pouty, and his face is just too... too sweet that she has to resist the urge to tug on his llama hat tassels and stroke his hair.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice silky and smooth like melted chocolate and sex. "Are you reading 'Game of Thrones?'"

"Yeah," she stammers. "Um... have you read it?"

"That, and I've watched the Starz show. Which one do you think is better?" he asks, peering into her eyes intently despite how much she tries to shift her gaze. "Book or TV adaptation?"

"Book," she answers honestly. "The book is almost always better than the movie, after all. Or TV adaptation, whatever." She's biting her lower lip like it's a piece of taffy, gnawing on it so much that in this chilly weather, she might have cuts all over it and dry, chafed skin by the end of the day.

He smiles at her response. "Glad I've found someone else who thinks the same way."

"Uh-huh," she says, unable to think of anything else to say except _ohgodit'shimandwe'resoclose._

Sitting down and stretching out his jean-clad legs, he reaches out a hand. "I'm Finnick Odair, by the way. And you are?"

'Say something. Anything.'

"I'm Annie but you can call me Ann or Annabell or Bella because everyone else does and it's nice to meet you, Finnick, and cool you like "Game of Thrones" too, well that's interesting and, um, I like Coldplay and er..." She trails off, feeling more than awkward and wringing her hands as Finnick Odair, her new potential friend decides whether she's okay or not.

At last, he says, "You like Coldplay?"

"Yep."

"Me, too." Resting his head against the wall behind them, his eyes flicker up to the ceiling and she finds herself looking where he's looking, like there's a water stain somewhere of great and vital importance. "I'm fond of "The Scientist," "Viva la Vida," and "'Til Kingdom Come," to name a few. Your favorites?"

She's shocked. "You... you like "'Til Kingdom Come," too?"

"Yeah. Great song. And it was in "The Amazing Spiderman," wasn't it? Man, Andrew Garfield rocks, doesn't he?"

"Oh. My. _Gosh_. You... you..."

"What?" He suddenly looks worried, and the pout is even more prominent, and her brain processes this and files it away in the list of cute things she will always, always remember. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all, if anything, _I _said something wrong, but..." She fidgets with her shirtsleeves. "I like "'Til Kingdom Come," as well. It's one of my favorite Coldplay songs."

"Really? That's a nice coincidence." He grins. "It's one of my favorites, too."

No. No, this is not possible.

"That's a nice shirt," she notes. "Do you by any chance watch danisnotonfire or AmazingPhil on YouTube?"

"A lot. They're pretty funny, aren't they? And Charlie McDonnell and Alex Day." Finnick chuckles. "One of my weird talents- ones I really don't use a lot-is that I can sing almost every Chameleon Circuit song. Don't ask," he adds, noticing her questioning and flabbergasted look, "it was my sister Johanna's fault. She made me sing them with her until I... well, memorized them."

Her fingers are tingling. She feels a sudden, unexpected urge to hug Finnick Odair tightly like he's a stuffed animal. Like he's Dan or Phil or Charlie or Alex Day or Jensen Ackles or Misha Collins or Jared Padalecki. Even though she's barely known him for thirty minutes, she feels an instant connection with _Finnick effing Odair_, who is not only extremely attractive, but also watches Dan Howell and can sing songs by Charlie MacDonnell from memory alone.

What.

The.

Flying.

Fuck.

Inside, she imagines that her heart is close to exploding.

"Do you..."

"Yes?"

"Erm, do you know how to... how to sing Charlie's duet?"

He lets out a laugh at that, deep-throated and so _Finnick_, she realizes, and answers, "Do _you _want to sing it together? We're practically the only people around here, so..."

_Oh yes._

"I'll start, I guess." Clearing his throat, he starts _singing_, each word sung perfectly without a hitch. "_I am you..._"

Suppressing a toothy grin, she sings, "_You are me..._"

Both of them: "_Together, we make the per-fect Char-lie..._"

Annie: "_And when I'm feeling down..._"

Finnick: "_We know that we..."_

Both of them: "_Will always be around._"

Annie giggles as they continue with the duet, finally falling over and rolling on the ground in hysterics, uncaring about the odd looks Glimmer and Clove shoot her or Finnick hovering over her head, looking worried, because the whole situation is just so absurd. She's singing Charlie's duet with someone who actually knows the lyrics, and that someone just happens to be Finnick Odair, aka boy-who-was-checking-her-out-and-is-extremely-sexy .

"Is something wrong?" Finnick asks.

Her hair splayed all over the floor, Annie replies, still smiling, "Nope. It's just weird. You actually know the song."

"The hours really paid off, huh?" He settles down beside her, the two of them lying next to each other like... like a _couple_, and she can smell him: aftershave, spearmint toothpaste, and chlorine, which makes her think he's a swimmer. She feels her cheeks flush.

"Paid off?"

"Well, I got to use it as an excuse to talk to you," he tells her, suave and debonair as Sherlock, but his expression is sort of sheepish and Andrew Garfield-esque and that unexplainable urge to hug him surfaces again, though perhaps it's not as unexplainable as she thinks. Maybe it's because Finnick Odair is cute and has watched "The Social Network" and listens to songs by British YouTubers. Maybe those are factors in her desire to glomp him here and now.

She's unable to vocalize all that, however, simply staring at him with an "Ummmm..." look written all over her face. Finnick grins and rolls over to face her. She rolls over to face the trash can because he'll see that she's blushing like she's got a fever.

"I can see you blushing, you know." Damn him and his acute eyesight!

"Stop looking at me. I'm not important. Focus on something else." She covers her face with her hands.

Pulling her back towards him, he looks her in the eye with his own turqouise orbs and says, "You know, in nine hundred years of time and space I've never met anybody who wasn't important before."

Oh, and he quotes "Doctor Who."

_What_.

At that moment, however, her mom pulls up in their minivan, screeching to a stop in front of the school entrance. Seizing the opportunity, she grabs her backpack, yells a quick, "Gotta go!" and runs off. Finnick shouts after her, "Call me!"

"I don't know your number!"

"Look me up in the school directory!"

She yanks one of the doors wide open and jumps inside, pulling it shut behind her and strapping on her seatbelt. As her mom pulls away, she sees Finnick Odair waving at her.

* * *

Nona is in an uproar.

"Finnick Odair?" she practically screams, bouncing up and down in Annie's room like she's a performer from Cirque du Soleil executing a simplistic trampoline routine. "His name? _He told you his name_?"

"Yeah," Annie replies, somewhat hesitantly. "So?"

"And he asked you to call him."

"Yes."

"He knows Chemical Circuit."

"Yes."

"He's got the body of a Greek god."

"Yes."

Her bestie holds up a hand. "High five, girl, because I believe you have just scored _big _in the boyfriend jackpot."

Annie shies away, sipping from her Pepsi cup. "Well, yeah, if you put it that way."

"High five me."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

So Annie does, and Nona looks even more pleased than ever. "What did he sing with you?"

"Charlie's duet."

Nona shrieks, her hair flying everywhere like there's a miniature Nona-sized tornado spinning about her and funneling her follicles back and forth. Her bestie is ecstatic for her, because Annie has never had a potential boyfriend before. Nona's into matchmaking on tumblr, but also in real life.

Yippee. Annie groans and downs the last of her saccharine soda.

* * *

Finnick is a swimmer. A competitive one.

His muscles flex powerfully as he jets through the lanes, goggles protecting his eyes and making him look a bit like a hornet. His copper hair is held in place by a swim cap, and he's wearing nothing but a Speedo.

He's cutting through the water like a pair of garden shears snipping the stem of a white rose.

* * *

A few days later, they're walking into school, and Annie spots Finnick Odair hovering by what is apparently his locker. Nona does, too.

"He's right there. Literally, he's only a few feet away." Nona does this weird eye-wiggle thing of suggestiveness, but Annie adamantly stands her ground and refuses to be forcibly shipped with Finnick Odair by her slightly over-eager best friend, and especiall not here in the hallway where Glimmer's clique of blonde, make-up caked hierophants are waiting to strike like vipers. Already, Glimmer's eyes are darting around, looking over the males passing by her way like she's got a guy-radar when her eyes lock onto Finnick's backside and she grins like a cat.

Involuntarily, as she sees Glimmer eyeing Finnick with the unmistakable predatory hunger that only girls in the upper echelons of school are able to pull off, she feels anger rush to her head, blood pounding in her veins. Glimmer is a bitch, was a bitch, and will always be a bitch.

But she won't get to lay her manicured talons on Finnick. Not Finnick Odair, who sang with her yesterday like they were two old friends. Nope.

Nona elbows Annie in the side, causing the latter to cry out. "Come on, go get 'im, lioness." She makes strange noises supposed to be reminiscent of a proud Queen of Cats in the African wilderland, but it comes out as a strange choked-feline noise. Annie doesn't need anymore cajoling, though.

Boldly, she walks up to Finnick as Glimmer twists a strand of honey-blonde hair around a slim, porcelain finger and announces her presence by saying, "Hi."

Glimmer looks at her with disgust, but Finnick smiles broadly and greets her back with, "Hey there, Annie."

"Ahem." Glimmer coughs. "Finnick, babe, you said something about your swim meet-"

"Sorry, can we talk about it later? I'm kinda busy right now." And Finnick, to his eternal credit, places a hand around Annie's shoulders, dwarfing her by a foot, at least, and scoops her away, leaving Glimmer squaking indignantly behind them. Nona gives her a thumbs-up and hurries off to first period.

"So, how are you doing?" he asks, to which she answers, "Great. And you?"

"Great," he replies, smiling his winning smile. He has dimples when he smiles. Damn, he's cute.

"What do you have first?"

"Chem, then English, then Geometry, and then lunch."

"English, Physics, and English."

"Too bad we're not in any classes together," Finnick says ruefully. "But maybe later, we could sit together, if you want."

"You're okay with sitting with me? I mean..." She chews on her lip. "I'm kind of a wallflower and you... well, you're _you_."

Grinning, Finnick questions, "And that means?"

She's blushing. "Well, you're really... you're really hot."

"Thanks. I get that a lot."

"I figured." She feels like a child for her observation; of course he does, why wouldn't he?

"No, Annie, I didn't mean it like that. Mostly, it's just people like Glimmer who are honestly kind of lacking in the upstairs department, if you know what I mean." He does an imitation of Glimmer in her falsetto voice and makes Annie laugh. Taking her by the hand, he stops her and whispers into her ear, "I'll be waiting for you, later."

Then, he leaves for Chemistry and her palm is warm.

* * *

As promised, Finnick _is _waiting for her, which is very pleasant in itself. He beams as she leads him to their table- herself and Nona -where Nona is already sitting with a chocolate milk, a rumpled burger, and spicy jalapeno chips on her tray. Her bestie's face lights up as Finnick joins them.

"Hey, there," she purrs. "I'm Nona. And you're Finnick, I hear."

Annie rolls her eyes as Finnick extends a hand. "Yep. Nice to meet you, Nona."

"The pleasure's all mine." Cue suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Nona, Finnick, and Annie chat, and Nona remarks on how Finnick would look great in a flower crown. Annie agrees, and Finnick looks confused until she explains that it's a tumblr thing. Finnick remarks on how he doesn't have a tumblr, so Nona pulls up some images on Google of various celebs flower-crowned by tumblr people. Logan Lerman, Dylan O'Brien, and Misha Collins all have flower crowns.

"Annie here actually knows how to make a real flower crown," says Nona. "The girl's great with weaving."

Finnick nods and turns to her. "Annie, is that true?"

"Yeah."

"Do you..." Finnick is pausing, hesitating. "Do you think you could make a flower crown for me?"

Nona is trying hard not to scream. Annie, smiling at Finnick, answers, "Yes."

* * *

Finnick, laughing with her at mundane things. Finnick, who listens to "Something Corporate" and "Jack's Mannequin."

Finnick Odair, with his copper-red hair and eyes that twinkle mischievously and seductively.

Finnick Odair, who really _would _look great in a flower crown.

She's sitting with him on a bench, eating ice cream. Mint chocolate-chip and plain vanilla. There are seagulls flying into the air. The two of them are facing the beach. Finnick likes to swim, and his hair is still wet, but he's put on a shirt and she feels a little disappointed. But it's still _Finnick_, who is Brand New and must be approached with Caution lest she scare him off.

She used to do that. She's a bit of a madwoman, you know.

"Why do you always do that?" he asks her when she turns away from him.

"Do what?"

"Cover up your face when you're with me." His spoon dips into the ice scream and scoops it up, depositing it onto his tongue, and as it melts and goes down his throat, he adds, "Your face looks nice. You really shouldn't cover it all the time."

"It's nothing special."

"It is to me."

That's when she starts feeling a little seed of hope in her heart, and she waters it and wills it to bloom so she can pluck the flower out of her heart-soil and make a wreath from the blooms.

* * *

Flower-crowning is an art in itself, and like other forms of art, the materials selected in crafting the desired result must be selected by the artist himself or herself. Items are symbolic, fragments of a person's innermost emotions, desire and lust and longing.

So, over the weekend, Annie gets her mom to drive her to the park. She's carrying a basket, has slathered on some sunscreen, and is ready to go flower picking in one of the wilder, less populated areas. Away from the shrieking children and watchful mothers and bored-looking teens around her own age, she stoops down in her jeans and plucks up the prettiest flowers she can find. There are a lot of wildflowers to be found if you look carefully.

Daisies, daffodils, bluebells and violets. They're the only flowers growing here, but they'll do. She smiles happily as she looks at her haul, at all the pretty flowers she's gathered.

Back home, in the privacy of her room, she gets to work knitting them together with the precise, surgical movements of an expert in this particular practice. With string and bits of assorted thread, she weaves the flowers together, beanding them into a roughly circular shape that she estimates will be able to fit around Finnick's head or at least sit on top of it. Blue, white, purple, and yellow woven together into a floral tapestry. Flower crown a la Annie Cresta, done and presenting.

"Punk Rock Princess" from "Something Corporate" plays in her ears while she weaves and listens to Andrew Mcmahon's sexy voice lull her into the routine of work. Her brown hair is tied back with a rubber band, and all in all, anyone looking into her room would have instantly classified her as a cute artist type. Sometimes, she drinks Evian water and Sunkist pop to keep her awake; she notes the rings around her eyes.

And, in the quiet of her bedroom, her fingers darting in and out around the stems with spidery movements, she acknowledges that she may be feeling something for Finnick Odair. She also theorizes that he might feel something for her, but that's probably wishful thinking, she assumes. At best, they are brand-new friends.

When she's finished, she plucks the single rose from her vase and stabs it into the crown's center, even though she's sure it's dying. She hopes it'll stay alive for a few days more until Finnick gets the crown. Because she really _does_ like him. She wants him to feel the same way about her, too, for God's sakes; that's the most any girl can hope for, isn't it?

Storing the crown in the refrigerator to keep the flowers fresh, she goes to the bathroom to wash the petals and dirt off her fingers. Looking up into the mirror, she sees herself: pale face, too-large lips, over-wide eyes, puffy rings, prominent eyebrows, and a dull brunette to top it all.

What could Finnick possibly see in her?

Her mind recalls his invitation to call him, to look up his number in the school directory. It would be easy. So very easy.

But at the last second, she feels a stab of doubt and ignores the idea. The directory sits untouched, collecting dust.

* * *

Nona's already seen the crown, and she's uber-excited for Finnick to see it as well. Nona ships many things, and among her OTPs, herself and Finnick have already been shelved in that category.

"He's just a sort-of friend."

"You're obviously blind if you don't know how he looks at you." Nona says this with such smug, triumphant Nona-ness that she feels for a second that it might be true, that Finnick might like her back.

(the phone directory sits untouched)

Then, she rounds the corner and goes to her locker. She freezes.

Glimmer and Finnick are engaged in the most violent display of PDA. Ever. Finnick's been pinned against the locker, and Glimmer's mouth is mashed onto his like a Dementor about to suck out a soul. Clove watches snidely from the sidelines and gives Annie a little wave when she sees her.

She locks eyes with Finnick, who tries to push Glimmer off, but to no avail.

She doesn't need to see any more.

Without a word, Annie bolts through the front doors and out, out of the school, as far away from it as she can get.

* * *

Andrew Garfield is frowning. The flower crown falls off his head and onto the ground, and from there, it decays.

It's digital, but it hurts.

Strawberry milk-pink fades to grey. Her computer has been disconnected.

* * *

"Hey."

It's raining, and the rain is soaking into her shirt, plastering her hair against her head, sending shivers down her spine, but she doesn't care. Her hopes have been dashed like a flower ground into the dust, like the strands of her crown coming undone. The grass is wet and smells like rain.

Finnick has an umbrella and the faintest traces of Glimmer's lipstick on his chin. As though sensing what she's seeing, he wipes it off and sits down beside her, like they did in school when she was reading "Game of Thrones" and he was just the hot boy from the cafeteria who she was starting to like until now.

"You'll catch cold."

"I don't care."

"_I _do."

"I saw you."

"I know."

She turns to him, her eyes tear-streaked and covered in sliding raindrops. It looks like her face is a mirror and it's been broken. "And?"

He sighs. "It wasn't my idea. She was pushy. She forced herself on me."

She's silent.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

She doesn't talk to him. The rain keeps falling down, but now its pelting against his umbrella like water bullets, splattering on the plastic and trickling over the edges. Umbrellas slope downwards for a reason.

"You're really going to get sick, you know." Abruptly, he hands her the umbrella and tugs off his shirt, and even though she's supposed to be sad, she can't help but feel her eyes gravitate over to the smooth, hard lines of his body. Biceps, chest, abs and all. He's bare-chested and standing in the rain, water running down his hair and onto his torso, and he's holding out his shirt for her to wear.

"Take it."

"_You'll _catch cold, Finnick."

He smiles. "Yeah, but you've been out here longer than I am. I'm accustomed to these kinds of temperatures because I swim. You aren't." He tilts her chin up and brushes wet hair out of her eyes. "Look, you're shivering."

"I'm fine, I said."

At his behest, she slips it on, warm and soft and smelling of Finnick all over. His arms are wrapped around her, his body heat engulfing her in a little blanket of Finnick, and she is so close to him that she can smell the spicy Old Spice shampoo in his hair, can almost hear the beating of his chest, can gaze into his azure eyes and drift up on cloud nine.

"Did you like it?" she asks.

"Not one bit," he tells her. "I was thinking of you."

"Finnick, I don't think this is going to work out."

"Why not?" he questions, looking hurt. "Annie, there's nothing between Glimmer and I, I assure you-"

"It's not that. It's just that you're, well, a Greek god and I'm... I'm a nobody."

"Who told you that? Yourself?"

She says nothing, but he knows. He turns her face towards him, and she's unable to pull away.

"Look at me, Annie. Look at me."

She does.

"You're not a nobody. You never were. You're _you_, Annie."

"I'm not as beautiful as Glimmer is."

"To hell with Glimmer. She's vapid and dull and utterly unattractive, she just doesn't realize it yet. But you don't realize that you're beautiful."

"Bullshit."

"Do you think I'd bullshit you, Annie?" Finnick is peering into her eyes, gazing into her soul. She squirms.

"No. I don't."

"Then why can't you accept the facts?"

"Because I'm just a plain Jane kind of girl." Annie feels tears in her eyes bubbling up, threatening to spill through like an uncorked champagne bottle, fizzy bubbles instead of teardrops. Finnick's body is warm and comforting, but she doesn't want to cry on him.

A drop trickles down and she catches it on the tip of her tongue. Salt.

"You're anything but ordinary, Annie." Finnick's cradling her against his chest, and yes, she can hear his heartbeat now. It goes thump-thump-thump, like a drumbeat. "You're special. In fact, you're one of the oddest girls I've met my whole life."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah. You like danisnotonfire and AmazingPhil and Doctor Who and you're an avid tumblr person. You're funny, and witty, and you can make flower crowns. What's not to love?"

Inadvertently, she lets out a laugh, and she realizes Finnick has done the impossible. He's cheered her up.

"What is there _to _love?"

"Everything. Everything about you."

She sucks in a breath, unwilling to follow that tantalizing assumption, that out-of-reach inference. No. Finnick does not like her, but she wants him to, and he's holding her like they're boyfriend and girlfriend and she can't deny it any longer.

Her fingers reach up and massage the swell of his arm, and Finnick tenses.

"Annie..."

"I... I really..."

"What is it, Annie?" He sounds expectant.

"I, um... I love you."

Time pauses.

"Well, isn't that just another pleasant coincidence, because I love you too."

There. He's said it. Her world has been shattered, put back together with masking tape, and rearranged like the contours of a four-by-four Rubiks cube. His admission, so blatant and bold, leaves no room for doubt, for another school directory incident. _He loves her_.

Holy shit.

"Finn."

"Annie." His lips brush the top of her head, her fingers clasping his own and intertwined around them like the knots of a fishing net. It's stopped raining, post-rain dew sparkling on the grass, and even though she's soaked and shaking, this moment is perfect.

Reaching for the box with its silver gleam and rain-dotted skin, she opens it and removes the crown made for Finnick, the blossoms still preserved, albeit a little wilted. Finnick lowers his head like a bull before a matador, and she places the crown on his head. The flowers shine against the rust-red of his hair; copper and earth. His eyelids flutter, and he looks back up at her. His hands reach up to touch, to caress her handiwork, and he grins a typical Finnick grin.

"It's beautiful," he says. She ducks her head again out of shyness at his praise, but he goes on, "The flowers on my head are pretty, but your face is even prettier."

Sun is peeking through the slate-grey clouds; the clear after the storm.

Finnick's lips are red like the rose she stuck for him. Annie turns, pulling back her wet chocolate mane and leaning towards him, towards the Finnick who, surprisingly, loves her back.

They're both very pretty. The flowers and Finnick.

Meeting at the center, their lips lock and they kiss, and it's nothing like what Glimmer did to Finnick because Glimmer was artificial, all bad Photoshop and nothing genuine about it. This is real life, not the internet. This isn't Andrew Garfield or Charlie McDonnell, who are only reachable through computer screens and movie screens and television screens. This isn't Phan, or Nerimon, or Destiel. This isn't a digital romance.

Sometimes that's better.

* * *

_tell me how all this,  
and **love** too,  
will ruin us.  
these,  
our bodies,  
possessed by light.  
tell me we'll **NEVER** get used to it._

-Richard Siken

* * *

a/n: please read and review! thanks! :)


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